


Time just slips from your sugarplum lips

by sixtotenpotatoes (schiefergrau)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, Tommy in Makeup, the makeup doesn't really play that much of a role tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16359296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schiefergrau/pseuds/sixtotenpotatoes
Summary: "Haha," Jon says tonelessly. It's not funny, Jon can't imagine anything further away from funny. Funny would be Tommy in badly drawn lipstick, wearing a grandmother dress and an ugly wig. This right here? This isn't funny. It's hot and heavy, and breathless; it's trying not to want and needing so bad.Inspired by the glorious Honey ad read in the PSA episode “RIDE OR DIE WITH DICTATORS”





	Time just slips from your sugarplum lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tommyandthejons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommyandthejons/gifts).



> thank you for all your wonderful help. I’m unable to fix them in the other universe just yet, but I was able to write this. I hope you like it. 
> 
>    
> This story is pure fiction about fictional characters who only happen to be named like and look like real people. If you are in any way associated with someone mentioned in this story or are mentioned yourself, please click away.   
> This story is only for Fandom's eyes. Please don't share it with anyone on the outside.
> 
>  
> 
> Title is taken from Sugartown by The Fratellis
> 
> Many thanks to [Moody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelymoody/pseuds/obsessivelymoody) for beta reading.
> 
>  
> 
> This is a different timeline without real-life partners who are off to a great time somewhere else.

_They're in the studio and Jon thinks his joke about Tommy buying clay masks at Sephora is so goddamn funny until Tommy starts talking about wearing blush and Jon is stunned into silence._

_They're in the studio and Tommy bites his lips and grins and looks at Jon from under his lashes._

_They're in the studio and Jon pinches his own thigh until it hurts._

 

"Blush, huh?" Jon asks when they take off their headphones, finally, finally being done with recording the last add read for the day.

"About as likely as me buying clay masks, to be honest." Tommy shrugs.

"One of those things you definitely don't need." Jon taps his own cheek before leaning down to Pundit, patting her head.

Tommy grins, tucking his laptop under his arm. "Are you saying I need clay masks?"

"Don't we all?" Jon sighs and stands up as well to gather his own stuff. Pundit's already on her way to the door, excited about the apparent change of scenery.

"We should do an official clay mask day at the office when we come back from Austin. Traveling is terrible for your skin," Tommy suggests, leaning against the table, body turned to Jon.

Jon shudders. "Ugh, I don't want to see you people with clay masks on your faces. That sounds like a cheap horror movie. I put in a veto against official clay mask day."

He steps forward, expects Tommy to move in the direction of the door as well—but he doesn't, and Jon almost runs into him, nose just inches away from his chest. Jon's just about to take a step back, to bring much-needed distance between them, when Tommy leans down to him, just slightly.

"Well, would you like to see me with blush?" He asks, voice dropped low. The look he gives Jon from under his lashes could almost be described as suggestively, and Jon presses his lips together.

Why did he have to bring the topic up again? Why did he have to do that?! He should know better by now. He hadn't been able to answer either quick or clever to Tommy's earlier retort, why should it be different this time? It's almost making him angry. Because when the fuck did Tommy start being able to one-up him in this? It isn't fair, this should be Jon's territory, not Tommy's. He doesn't know how to react when Tommy flirts back.

"Sure," he says, noncommittally, averting Tommy's eyes."I'm not convinced how good that would look, considering the absence of talent you proved when we did the pumpkin carving last year, but sure."

 

#

_Jon sits at his desk and can’t forget about yesterday and dreads the next couple of days, knowing if he had just one more day, more than one evening for himself, he could force himself to forget it happened and be back to normal again._

_Jon sits at his desk and feels his stomach lunge violently at the thought of sitting next to Tommy in the car to the airport, on the plane, of spending so much time close to him._

_Jon sits at his desk and hates the world._

 

"The car is here," Tommy says, sticking his head into the room. "Are you ready?"

"Just give me a minute, okay?"

Tommy smiles and ducks his head back out. Jon does need this minute, needs it desperately to collect himself. He should have gotten used to this, should have gotten used to Tommy after all these years, but sometimes he's still able to throw Jon off, unexpectedly and devastatingly. It's one of those weeks. 

Jon sighs. Why do these things always happen to him? He's a good person, most of the time at least, he doesn't deserve this. They could have decided to let him go with Dan…

But that's not an option, not for now, maybe just something to remember for next time, so he collects his things and steps through the door. He’s surprised to see that his stuff is not where he left it. 

"Hey,” he asks into the room, “has anyone seen my bag?"

"I already got it into the car," Tommy, who's just stepping back inside the office says.

Because of course, he has. Of course, he's nice to Jon today, on top of everything. Of fucking course.

Tommy's been doing this a lot lately, not only looking out for him and his stuff but being unnecessarily nice. Jon should probably just thank him and let it be, but he's too tired already to even try. 

"Great, let's go," he says instead, not looking Tommy in the eye.

 

#

_They're at the airport when Tommy suddenly places a hand on the small of Jon's back, large and warm, just lying there, guiding him gently through the crowd._

_They're at the airport when Tommy touches Jon in a way he doesn't normally touch Jon._

_They're at the airport when Tommy_ touches him _._

 

Jon can feel the heat seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. It's setting him on fire, is sending electric shivers through his body. He swallows hard.

He has to stop this, has to do something about it. Letting it slide would set a dangerous precedence. There are reasons why he has set rules for body contact. Not being a fan of it in general is just one of them. More importantly, he can't let Tommy touch him like this, or it will happen again. And if it happens again, if it just happens enough times, Jon knows he will get used to it. So much that he will miss it when it doesn't happen, so much that he's gonna want _more_.

He looks up, searching for Tommy's eyes. But Tommy doesn't look back, eyes straight forward, hand still in place, still guiding Jon through the crowds of people.

He’s hesitant, but finally says, "Tommy—" 

"Come on, we need to hurry," Tommy interrupts him without looking at him.

It's not really true, and Jon knows that Tommy knows that Jon knows it. But for some reason, he still gives in.

 

#

_Their flight doesn't go for a while, and there was no need to hurry, and now they're sitting too close to each other in uncomfortable airport chairs, reading up on the news in a companionable silence Jon doesn't feel._

_Their flight doesn't go for a while and Jon thinks about going to get coffee, just to get a few minutes away from Tommy, in hope to clear his head a bit._

_Their flight doesn't go for a while and Tommy's the first to move._

 

"Hey, could you have an eye on my stuff? I forgot I needed to buy something." Tommy is already on his feet, shuffling awkwardly in front of Jon.

Jon nods without looking up from his phone. "Sure. Just don't take too long or I'm gonna fly to Austin without you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'm not Favs, Tommy," he says, trying to sound as detached from the thought of holding Tommy's hand as he can. "I'm perfectly capable of flying on my own. I don't need someone to hold my hand on a flight."

"I could still do it," Tommy offers neutrally, and before Jon has the chance to react he already disappears around the corner.

It's even later that Jon remembers Tommy fuzzing about having to hurry earlier. He really should have commented on that, that would have been the much better course for their conversation. Maybe even one where Jon could have kept the upper hand—but it just doesn't seem to be his day today. He hopes that's not the start of mental deterioration. Not being witty in front of Tommy is bearable. Not being witty on HBO would be so much worse.

Tommy comes back fifteen minutes later, nothing in his hands except two cups of coffee. He gives one to Jon, and before he sits down Jon sees him shoves a black bag from his back pocket into his suitcase. On any other day he would be nosy, would tease Tommy for trying to be sneaky and failing. He would probably construct different scenarios what Tommy could have bought, getting more outlandish with every suggestion, until Tommy's red with laughter and embarrassment, but he really doesn't feel it today.

And so they drink their coffee in silence until their flight gets called.

 

#

 

_Jon's alone in his hotel room and he's glad to finally have the chance to breathe again, away from Tommy, away from other people. Just Jon, the TV, and nobody who would place his hand on the small of Jon's back and would feel safe and steady against him._

_Jon's alone in his hotel room, and it's awfully quiet, so quiet that he turns up the volume of the TV and scrolls aimlessly through his twitter timeline, just to not be alone with his thoughts._

_Jon's alone in his hotel room, alone with his thoughts, and he hates it._

 

A message flashes at the top of his screen. It's Tommy.

_Come over?_

Jon frowns. It's not exactly typical for Tommy these days to just ask him to come over. He writes back: 

_Did something happen?_

_Just something I'd like to show you._

It's as ominous as it can be. Jon's not sure how much he likes it. The message lights up questions in his head and a flame in his belly that he didn't know was still there. What the hell could Tommy want to show him that requires Jon to come to his hotel room? Pictures are flashing through his mind, as vivid as if they were real memories—instead of being nothing but well-repeated fantasies.

Jon shakes his head as if to get rid of the thoughts he has and doesn't want to have. They're intrusive and dangerous, burning into his retina, letting his heart beat faster. He takes a deep breath and sends back:

 _K, send me your room number and I'll be over in ten_

He has committed to it now, can't take it back so easily. It's better this way. This way he at least can overwrite his hyperactive imagination with pictures of reality, pictures that are usually so much less interesting than whatever happens in his head.

He goes to the bathroom, lets cold water run over his wrists until they feel numb, but it's calming his racing mind down, if just for a while. He looks at himself in the mirror and knows he should be content. He should be content, should be happy and proud to have reached a goal, and still, he feels strangely detached, as if it isn't really him who's looking back. When his hands start to hurt he pulls them back, dries his hands and thinks about changing into something looking less like sleep clothes. He decides against it; if Tommy insists on Jon coming over he has to live with this.

All the way over to Tommy's room the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach doesn't leave. It's silly, he tries to tell himself. There's no reason to be uneasy, no reason to be nervous and so on edge. Tommy throws him off in small, casual ways, not in the dramatic, life-altering ways. It won't be any different tonight.

Still, standing in front of Tommy's door he has to take a deep breath before he can convince himself to knock.

The door opens slightly, just seconds later, and Tommy says from behind it, "Come in."

"Okay…?" Jon says, staring blankly at the door. This really, really doesn't help with his nerves, not one bit. He's hesitating but pushes open the door slowly and steps inside.

"Tommy, what exactly are we doing—," and the rest of the sentence gets stuck in his throat, speechless by what he's seeing.

 

_They're in Tommy's hotel room and Tommy's standing there, in the middle of the room, dressed in a pair of dark pants and a dark t-shirt, lashes long and dark, cheeks rosy, mouth pink._

_They're in Tommy's hotel room and Tommy's wearing makeup and the light catches on his bottom lip._

_They're in Tommy's hotel room and Jon feels like he's falling._

 

For a couple of painful heartbeats, time is a lie, the floor below his feet is gone, and nothing outside of the two of them exists. Jon's staring, eyes wide and mouth open, aware of all of this and still unable to do anything against it.

And Tommy? Tommy doesn't do anything either; he's just standing there, looking back at Jon. What had been kind of a smug expression on his face turns more and more unsure with each passing second, until he looks almost shy, almost embarrassed.

Jon's suddenly acutely aware that his fingers are still closed around the door handle and contemplates if it wouldn't be better to just turn around, to just leave the room and pretend none of this ever happened? But before he can even finish the thought he has closed the door and takes a few steps into Tommy's direction. For a second he asks himself if he just signed the death sentence to their friendship as it is, and then Tommy's so close that Jon could almost touch him.

"Hey," Jon whispers, everything else too loud, too disruptive in his head for this situation.

"Hey," Tommy whispers back in a tone that makes Jon's stomach jump. Tommy's eyes never leave his, they're so dark in the dim light that you almost can't tell they're blue; and Jon realizes with a pang in his chest that his pupils are dilated. This hasn't got to mean anything, he reminds himself, could just be to the low lighting, but deep down he's aware it's not that. He can feel it prickle on his skin, behind his ears, in his fingertips. Something shifted. Something shifted between them today.

"You look…," Jon says, and swallows down all the things he wants to say and isn't allowed to say; and then says some of them either way, "…wow, you look really hot. Good, I mean. Also hot, but…" He stops himself before he can say more to increment himself.

Tommy smiles, small and shy. He's pretty, he's so goddamn pretty that it makes Jon's heart hurt.

Jon shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, to stop them, to stop _himself_ from reaching out into empty air. He's looking down his body and feels hilariously under-dressed, which is the silliest thing he could think in this situation. Tommy doesn't care what Jon's wearing. He doesn't care that the sweatpants sit a bit too low on Jon's hips, now that he lost weight. He doesn't care that Jon's wearing a new shirt that's way whiter, tighter and more sheer than Jon thought it would be when he put it into his virtual basket. It's soft though, just right for the night, and he didn't feel like changing into something else before coming to Tommy's room. He regrets it, now that he feels a familiar and unwelcome tug in his middle.

He looks up, searching in his mind for something he could say, anything that would make this easier to stand, but there's nothing, not a single word, and the silence in the room closes in on them with each passing second. The air feels electric and so dense that it muffles all sounds except Jon's own heartbeat in his ears.

"This was supposed to be funny," Tommy whispers.

"Haha," Jon says tonelessly. It's not funny, Jon can't imagine anything further away from funny. Funny would be Tommy in badly drawn lipstick, wearing a grandmother dress and an ugly wig. This right here? This isn't funny. It's hot and heavy, and breathless; it's trying not to want and needing so bad. 

Tommy bites his lower lip, white teeth against glossy pink, watching Jon intently.

He's gonna get lipstick on his teeth, Jon thinks and has the sudden impulse to lick it off. He shudders on the inside, disgusted and turned on by the thought at the same time. He takes a deep breath, swallows, feels like he's going to suffocate on the atmosphere in the room.

Tommy's eyes track the movement of Jon's chest, of his throat. He seems to be very far away with his thoughts, until he slowly blinks at Jon, lashes long and dark against rosy cheekbones. His damn cheekbones…

"Dude, your face should be forbidden," Jon says shakily, trying to joke himself back onto what he believes is safer territory.

But Tommy laughs a choked, desperate laugh, and crosses the last feet between them. Suddenly he's close, so close, and Jon's heart jumps in his throat. He presses his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sudden proximity—but that just gives way to a whole new wave of impressions. Tommy's aftershave, the minty smell of toothpaste on his breath, a sweet subtle smell of vanilla. Jon shivers and forces himself to open his eyes again. Gaze turned downward he sees Tommy's hands, clenched at his sides; opening, closing as if he's stopping himself from—

Jon looks up slowly. Tommy's watching him, eyelids heavy, lips slightly parted, glinting in the low light. Jon's heart is pounding so hard, so loud in his chest that he's sure Tommy has to hear it.

" _Your_ face should be forbidden," Tommy says, and normally Jon would tease him for taking so long for such a lame comeback, but right now the words catch in his throat and all that comes out is a rasping sound.

They're still staring at each other, Tommy's eyes wandering between Jon's eyes and—and his mouth, Jon realizes.

They're just inches apart, and for everyone outside of these few inches, it should be crystal clear what's about to happen. 

But Jon doesn't dare to believe it. 

After all, he isn't able to judge unbiased, shouldn't trust his own instincts, not on this. He's too afraid he misunderstands and makes a mistake he can't undo. 

He doesn't know if he knows what's happening, all he knows is that _he_ can't be the one to do it, no, it can't be _him_. It was never a secret that he's, at least in theory, attracted to Tommy. It's never been a secret, not even to Tommy himself. But it had never been reciprocated, not like Jon would have liked it to be, well, at least at some point. He isn't sure if now is the time—if they aren't too deep into being something else to be __this__.

So he waits, heart beating fast and hard against his chest, breath stuck in his throat, until Tommy slowly lifts one hand, fits it against Jon's neck. His thumb brushes over sensitive skin, presses into Jon's thundering pulse and Jon sees stars dancing behind his eyes. His knees are suddenly weak, and before he knows what he's doing he steadies himself, hands on Tommy's hips.

And this seems to be all Tommy needs as an invitation to duck down his head and press his lips to Jon's, kissing him so softly, curious and questioning. It lasts barely seconds, barely enough time for Jon to register it's happening; not long enough, not goddamn long enough.

Their lips part. Jon feels Tommy's breath on his skin, on his lips, still so close, and he realizes he had shut his eyes. He opens them, searches for Tommy's gaze. For a moment, they're just looking at each other, and Jon's not sure if they have a silent conversation or if it's his own head, rapidly throwing words at him, but he still mentally yells back, "I want you. I want you i want youiwantyou."

He doesn't know who moves first, but suddenly his hands are on Tommy's face and Tommy pulls him in, and then they're kissing. And who's kissing whom doesn't matter. All that matters are Tommy's lips against Jon's. He tastes vaguely like vanilla, and for a second Jon thinks about how he's going to get lipstick all over Jon's face, and then Tommy slips his tongue into his mouth, and he forgets how to think altogether.

They inch closer, and closer, and even closer until there's no space left between them. He's standing with slightly spread legs, and Jon still has to crane his neck up into the kiss, and it's a bit awkward, but then there's also Tommy's hand on his neck, and honestly, he can't complain, because it's so, so hot.

Tommy's a damn good kisser, sending shiver after shiver down Jon's spine. His hand wandered from Jon's neck into his hair, pulling softly, angeling Jon carefully so he can deepen the kiss. It's heady and intense, and Jon can't believe this is happening, can't believe it's happening here and now, can't believe it's happening at all.

Jon has forgotten about lipstick altogether when Tommy kisses down his neck, bites into the skin where it meets his shoulder, and Jon hears himself moan obscenely. He would be embarrassed if it wasn't for the sound Tommy makes in return. It's guttural and hungry, and it's what finally makes Jon's knees give in.

Tommy's arms close around him almost immediately. "I've got you," he murmurs against Jon ear, raising every hair on Jon's body. Jon feels the deep rumble vibrate through his whole body, roll from his chest down into his toes in a wave that leaves nothing but pure desire inside him. Tommy's right, he's got Jon, in more ways than just one.

Tommy shifts his hands, never letting go of him, and lifts him up. Despite his own surprise Jon closes his legs around Tommy's hips, lets himself be held, lets himself be carried to the bed. He doesn't even waste more than a second on being self-conscious, and it’s to the ease with which Tommy picked him up and carries him alone.

Jon holds onto his shoulders, watching Tommy's face. The lipstick is smudged around his mouth, and it might look even hotter than before, Jon thinks, because it's never been the makeup, it's always been Tommy. Jon thinks about kissing him and doesn't because he doesn't trust himself.

Tommy lets Jon down on the bed carefully and hovers over him for a moment before he pauses. He bites his lower lip, asks, "You want this, don't you?"

Jon needs a moment to understand what Tommy's asking, and then he has to try and hide the laugh that bubbles up his chest. Which at first is hard and then too easy, when he sees the look on Tommy's face. He looks at Jon with something like fear now.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers. "Tell me this is not just me."

Jon shakes his head, pulls Tommy down until their lips meet. He kisses him softly, tries to put as much honesty, as much of himself into the kiss as he can, as much as he dares. "It's not just you," he whispers.

"Thank fuck," Tommy breathes and closes his mouth over Jon's again.

It's different, now that Tommy's lying half on top of him, now that they're at the same height, now that Jon has the possibility to lift Tommy's chin and kiss up his throat. Tommy's skin is awfully soft there, and Jon has to think back to the clay masks again, and how far away that ad read feels, how fucking far away yesterday feels.

"Your fucking shirt," Tommy says, neck stretched, just right for Jon to sink his teeth into, "Your _fucking_ shirt. Do you even know how hot you look in that thing? God, it's so fucking tight and do you even have any idea that people can see your fucking nipples through it?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, pulls Jon roughly back into a kiss, and yesterday might as well have been years ago.

"Tommy," Jon moans and lifts his hips against Tommy's, desperately searching for friction, for anything that can bring him relief. "Holy shit, Tommy."

Tommy presses back, presses his hard dick against Jon's, and the world blurs around the edges. Tommy's moan echoes in his ears, and maybe that's just his own, he doesn't know, all he knows is that Tommy's rocking his hips against Jon's, and it's so much better than it has any right to be. Jon's ridiculously hard already.

When Tommy increases the pressure, just a tiny bit, Jon can't help himself anymore, moans against his neck, "Fuck, please tell me you have condoms and lube."

Even though Jon has asked him, had shown enthusiastic interest in a positive answer to that question Tommy blushes when he nods. "Yeah, I— in my bag. Should I—?"

"Yes. Yes!" Jon nods frantically, making a shushing gesture with his hands. He can't believe this is happening and there aren't even any logistical problems. He certainly didn't expect to get laid on this trip. Was that what Tommy did earlier?

But before he can ask Tommy is back, puts both lube and condoms on the bed and starts to undress, which is so much more important right now than where he bought the damn stuff.

"Approved?" Tommy asks, after throwing his socks and shirt in the rough direction of his suitcase. He's surprisingly messy when turned on, Jon thinks.

"Not sure yet," Jon says. "But you may continue undressing."

Tommy laughs, warm and fond. "I’m not gonna try some striptease thing. You know I can't dance for shit."

"I don't need you to, just undress and be pretty."

"I thought you weren't sure if you approve yet?" Tommy teases and pulls his pants off, much more elegantly than his words might have indicated.

Jon rolls his eyes. "You know I approve. Everyone knows I approve. It's not a fucking secret, Thomas."

Tommy throws his pants away and leans down to where Jon's still lying fully clothed on the bed. Well, as fully clothed as he was to begin with. He probably would count as fully clothed anywhere outside of a bedroom. A bedroom in which sex is happening.

"Tell me," Tommy says, letting his nose run from Jon's collarbone up behind his ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

"Seriously?" Jon laughs. "What are you? A narcissist?"

"No, I—," Tommy protests. "It's just, I didn't expect this to happen, okay?"

"You were serious about this being a joke, weren't you?"

"Yes!" Tommy says, as if he's exhausted that Jon doesn't seem to understand it. But how _could_ he?

"What exactly did you think was funny about this?"

"I don't know?! It was funny in my head." He shrugs. "It was also really funny in the ad."

"It was just funny because you caught me on the wrong foot. There's nothing inherently funny about men wearing makeup."

"I never said there was. Also, could we please stop talking about my bad attempt at humor and just have sex?"

Just having sex. If only it was that easy. This, Jon thinks, will hurt. And he's not making any crude dick jokes to himself, no, he's just being honest. This will emotionally devastate him for who knows how long. But maybe, hopefully, he will also finally be able to get it out of his system. If it happens once, he might get over it. Maybe it's gonna be awful? He almost has to laugh at that, because so far there's not any indication that this will be terrible, and in the end that might be even worse, but Jon's going to risk it. Because what does he have to lose?

"Yeah," he says and smiles at Tommy, "Let's have sex."

#

 

_They're completely naked and Tommy touches him in ways he never thought Tommy would touch him; hands in his hair and on his cheeks, fingertips running along his spine, dipping into the hollow between Jon's thigh and his groin, stroking and teasing; hands around his heart._

_They're completely naked and Jon now knows how the skin on the inside of Tommy's thighs feels, knows the sounds he makes when Jon closes his hand around his dick, knows he won't be able to ever forget._

_They're completely naked and Jon has never felt so bare._

 

Tommy kisses down Jon's chest, down his belly, down, down, down. Jon knows Tommy sucked some guy's dick before, at some point, before he even knew Jon, which on some level makes their whole relationship all the more frustrating to Jon. But right now he appreciates it, appreciates that Tommy's not stopping, not even for a second, before closing his lips around Jon's dick.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut tight, too overwhelmed by the sensation of Tommy's mouth, wet and hot around his dick. There's no doubt in his mind that if he would also look at Tommy right now, he would come in a matter of seconds. Spots are dancing in the dark behind closed lids.

He lets himself fall into the feeling, and when it almost gets too much he reaches out and runs his fingers over the edges of Tommy's face—angular and sharp; so in contrast to the warm softness of his mouth—anchoring himself back in the here and now, if only for a second.

It's not long until he slips back into the rush of sensations, and sounds, and _feelings;_ not long until he's clenching around Tommy's fingers in him, moaning Tommy's name, sense and breathless.

He feels himself pull Tommy up and kiss him with everything he has, deep and dirty, saying everything he can't. Tommy's clinging to him like a drowning man, makes sounds that echo in Jon's head, that echo in Jon's heart. 

"Lovett— this… I—," Tommy whispers when they break apart, voice raspy, "I never thought—"

Yes, Jon thinks, he didn't either. Even this morning he would have bet all his money that Tommy would _never_ kiss him, and now he's doing exactly that; he's kissing Jon until the edges of his vision get softer, blur out, and there's nothing on earth that matters but Tommy.

 

Time 

is nothing

but a concept.

 

And then Tommy’s lying flat on his back and Jon’s hovering over him, breath stumbling over heartbeats, unable and unwilling to break eye contact for even a second. 

He sinks down on Tommy's dick slowly, takes his time to get used to it, takes his time to take in everything that's happening on Tommy's face. The twitch in the corner of his mouth, the way he bites his lower lip, how his lashes flutter against his cheeks when Jon sinks down, how his neck stretches in a toneless moan when he's fully inside him.

It’s quiet and Jon holds still for a moment, lets himself feel the bite of the stretch, the heat, the tightness in his middle, and Tommy’s gaze that’s burning so much hotter than anything else.

“Lovett,” Tommy whispers, eyes wide and full of silent wonder. 

Jon can’t help himself, has to reach out and cup Tommy’s cheek in his hand as he slowly starts to move, has to run his thumb over parted lips.

Pictures in Jon’s mind get replaced, get overwritten, and reality is so much more than he ever imagined. Reality is the way Tommy moans Jon’s name, desperate and needy. Reality is Tommy’s hands on his hips, pulling, pushing, holding. Reality is much too real and Jon cries out loud when a new wave of pleasure breaks over him.

 

Tommy sits up, holds Jon close and flips them over, all in one smooth movement. Jon would voice his appreciation, but Tommy's so close, so deep inside him, that he's momentarily speechless, breathless, helpless, holding onto Tommy's shoulder blades, aimlessly searching for his lips until he finds them—and where his body ends and Tommy's begins becomes indistinct and obsolete.

Arousal pulses through his body, thick and hot, makes his legs cross behind Tommy, makes his toes curl until it almost hurts. His name’s on Tommy’s tongue, is in his ear until there’s nothing but the rapidly growing tension in his groin and he cries out against Tommy’s shoulder, holding onto him for dear life.

And when he comes it’s not with a scream but a whimper.

 

#

 

_They just had sex, and Jon's lying with his head on Tommy's chest, and Tommy plays with his curls and breathes deeply and content. Jon's whole body tingles in the aftershock of his orgasm, still, minutes after._

_They just had sex and it's not awkward but warm and close, and somehow it feels so right that it would scare Jon if it wasn't for the hand in his hair._

_They just had sex and Jon's going to worry about everything else later._

 

When the silence gets too heavy Jon reaches up blindly, lets his fingers run over Tommy’s cheekbones, "Where the fuck did you learn that, by the way?" 

"What? The sex?" Tommy asks, laughing surprised.

"How to use makeup, duh."

"Oh." Tommy laughs. "That makes a lot more sense. Okay, fine, I'll tell you, but don't judge me, okay?"

"I can't promise that," Jon says honestly. 

"Lovett…"

"Okay, okay,” Jon gives in and presses his cheek a bit further into Tommy’s naked chest. “No judging!"

"You know how some people are into this ASMR thing? There are tons of videos on youtube where people do shit that makes noises and people love to watch them."

Jon shudders. "Ugh, yeah, I hate those!" 

"Me too,” Tommy agrees, running his fingers down Jon’s spine gently. “But you know what has a similar effect for me? Makeup tutorials. I don't know why, but I found out back in DC when I had problems with insomnia."

Jon props himself up on one elbow, looking skeptically at him because if he's not allowed to laugh he should at least be allowed to do that.

Tommy continued, "Like, I would just put them on and for some reason, I can just stare at them and calm down. And well, I seem to have picked up enough knowledge to be better at painting my face than anything else."

"Worked for me at least," Jon shrugs. "But by the way: did you leave me alone at the airport to buy this stuff at Sephora because of that fucking ad read? Or did you buy lube and condoms?" Jon asks, running his fingers over Tommy's cheekbones where the blush disappeared somewhere in the general pinkness of Tommy's face.

"No, I didn't. There's no Sephora at LAX," Tommy says and pulls Jon into a soft kiss. "So I went to MAC instead."

Jon laughs against his lips. "And bought everything they had," he teases gently.

"No everything. But, just blush probably wouldn't have looked very impressive in hotel room lighting. Especially not with my complexion. So I bought foundation, mascara, and blush, and lipstick, and a brush, obviously. Oh, and also that eyebrow pencil because I actually liked what they did with my eyebrows in the last HBO episode."

"That's a lot of investment into a stupid joke."

"Turns out it was a damn good investment into something much better than a joke," Tommy says, nose pressed against Jon's temple.

"Yeah?" Jon asks.

"Yeah. I've wanted this for quite a while. If I had known it was that easy, I would just have bought makeup earlier."

"Instead you could have asked, you know?” Jon says, not really looking at Tommy. “That would have been even easier."

Tommy’s voice is careful when he says, "I could try that the next time…?"

Jon's heart picks up speed again. Next time. 

"You should do that," he agrees and lets himself be pulled in another kiss, and knows it's not a good idea to even suggest this. But he doubts Tommy will go through with it anyway, so what does it matter?

"Hey, Lovett?" Tommy asks against his lips, just seconds later.

"Huh?"

"Want to have sex with me?"

"Now? I mean, I don't want to say no, but I'm not sixteen anymore, so I will need a—"

Tommy interrupts him, "Later, tomorrow, next week. Whenever you want, really."

Jon swallows. He's still afraid, so afraid to misunderstand what Tommy's saying, to do horrible and irreparable damage to their relationship. Tommy's looking at him, smudged mascara around his eyes and so hopeful, so honest, and it should make this easier, but it doesn't. It fucking doesn't.

"Tommy," he says carefully. "Tommy, I don't know if this is a good idea."

Tommy's face falls, there's no other word for it. "Oh," he says, voice toneless. "Okay." Slowly he starts to disentangle himself from Jon and it feels like someone poured cold water over Jon.

"Hey," he says, holding onto Tommy's upper arm. He wants to explain this to Tommy, doesn't want him to think it's because of _him_ when it's all Jon himself, but he doesn't know how to, not without hurting himself. "It's just, I don't think that would work, okay?"

"Sure," Tommy says, extracting himself from the grip and sitting up, back turned to Jon.

"I'm sorry, it's just, I can't do that anymore, you know? I can't have sex with a guy and not develop feelings for him. And I certainly can't do that with you." It's easier to say this to Tommy's back than to his face. After all, it's basically an admission of a secret, even if it had been an open one all along.

Tommy turns back to him, frowning. "Who even talked about avoiding feelings?"

"I…," Jon starts. "You…"

"Lovett, don't you get it? I'm in love with you. Even if I wanted, there's no fucking avoiding of any feelings."

Jon just stares. Can do nothing but claw his hands into the bedsheets and look at the color rising in Tommy's cheeks. This was certainly _not_ what he expected.

Tommy runs a nervous hand over his face and exhales audibly. "Listen, if that's too much for you, that's fine. I didn't plan on telling you anyway, at least not like this. If you have to leave and think about it that's okay, and I can respect that. Just know that if you decide that this—," he gestures between Jon and himself, "if you decide that this is something you're interested in, I will be there, waiting. This isn't going away for me anytime soon, you know? I mean, I won't stop being your friend because of this either. And if I ever make you uncomfortable, you can just—"

"Tommy," Jon says firmly, "Shut the fuck up!"

Tommy's mouth snaps shot, face completely red now. It would be endearing if Jon wasn't so annoyed with him. He wants to snap at Tommy, tell him exactly what he's thinking about how Tommy could have just said something.

Instead, he leans forward, says, "You're a goddamn idiot," and kisses him.

 

#

 

_It's the next morning and he's on the way back to his own room to change into real clothes, Tommy's at his side, warm and happy, and Jon can still feel the tingle of Tommy's lips against his neck._

_It's the next morning and Tommy's at his side and has one hand on the small of Jon's back._

_It's the next morning, and Tommy's at his side._

 

They run into Favs just around the corner to Lovett's room.

"Hey," he greets them, visibly surprised. "I just came to get you, we wanted to meet down in the hall 15 minutes ago. Where have you been?"

"Sorry, we…" Jon says and realizes he didn't actually think about any white lie to tell.

"Well, we were—," Tommy tries helpfully but seems to be similarly out of ideas.

Favs looks from Jon to Tommy and back, irritation clear on his face. Suddenly he freezes. "Eh, Lovett?"

"Huh?"

"Did you make out with a woman?" Favs looks almost scandalized.

"What?” Jon asks, surprised about the absurdity of the question. “No! Why would I do that?"

"Well, it looks like you've got lipstick on your shirt." He points somewhere at the collar of Jon's shirt.

Jon looks frantically at the spot he's pointing at, and oh god, Favs is right, there are traces of pink lipstick. 

When he looks up again his eyes meet Tommy's, and for a second it's like they have some kind of silent debate, then Tommy laughs, bright and beautiful.

"That, Favs," he says, putting an arm around Jon's shoulders and pulling him close, "is a long story."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr](https://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/) / Fic [post](https://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/post/179262384309/time-just-slips-from-your-sugarplum-lips)


End file.
